


i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas)

by Milzilla



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, max and isobel make brief appearances, millie gets lost in the ai details and forgets to actually write the malex, the console is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22019311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milzilla/pseuds/Milzilla
Summary: michael discovers that the console can talk. then, he discovers it can do far more than that.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 53
Kudos: 184





	i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AndreaLyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/gifts).



> for the incomparable [manda](https://andrea-lyn.tumblr.com/). this fic took way too long for how unsexy it turned out. maybe this will inspire some sexier the-console-is-a-sexy-ai fics?

So the thing is, the console talks.

Not in English or Spanish, of course, because that would be too easy, but it’s not even speaking in _binary_ or some other patterned language he can decipher. He’s got Alex’s work on decoding the _written_ part of the Antarian language but there’s no verbal component to match them to and Michael has absolutely no frame of reference for the odd sounds that the console is spitting out.

What he has is a console that talks to him.

And not because he’s crazy (he’s checked) or drunk. Middle of the day, stone-cold sober, even lightly caffeinated and burger-fries combo sitting happily in his stomach, and the console is still talking.

So, the only two options are a) he’s gone completely bat-shit insane, or b) it’s real. He’s decided to go with the second. That doesn’t mean that the console isn’t going to _drive_ him insane though.

Michael doesn’t meant to do it. He’s trying to operate one of the sections of the console and the thing keeps _humming_ at him. He throws down his pen in frustration and grabs at his curls.

“ _Fuck!_ ” he shouts. “Stop humming and just talk to me, you piece of shit!”

The console makes a whirring sound and Michael looks to the ceiling like he’s praying for mercy.

“You know what would be _real fucking helpful_?” he glares at the console. “If our advanced alien race had included some kind of interface into their super advanced tech. A screen or some holograms, so I’m not wandering around blind.”

The console whirrs again helpfully.

He climbs the ladder in a huff and shuts the bunker for the night, off to have his solitary drink at the Wild Pony now that Maria is letting him back into the bar again. Never date your bartender and refuse to tell her your big alien secret until the last possible moment; he’d learnt that the hard way.

*

When he climbs down the next day, there’s a _dude_ in the bunker.

“What the _fuck_.”

“Hello, Michael,” the dude says. The guy is the definition of tall, dark and handsome. He’s wearing some kind of weird style of robe that Michael’s never seen before; like a floor length monk robe that’s cut off the shoulders, except he looks like he’s walked right out of _Stargate_ or _Andromeda_. He’s fit, if the arms are anything to go by, and his dark brown hair drapes across his forehead in a way where the tips barely brush over his eyes. He looks familiar but Michael can’t quite place it.

“How do you know my name?” he asks.

The dude tilts his head and blinks in what Michael can only assume is confusion.

“We have spent the last few weeks together, Michael. Of course I know your name.”

Michael pinches himself. It hurts. He hasn’t drunk anything today. Whatever this is, it’s definitely happening. He just thinks he’d remember spending _weeks_ with this dude.

“Okay,” he says carefully, stepping forward. “I think we need to have this conversation somewhere else.” He reaches out to grab the guy’s arm and balks when his hand passes right through his body.

“I am, of course, a hologram,” the dude supplies helpfully.

Michael tries to grab him again, just in case. Both hands pass through his visage and he shimmers, shifting slightly before the image settles again.

“What the fuck,” Michael says, not really a question. He sits down on one of the stools placed around the work table, running a frustrated hand through his curls.

“You expressed the desire for easier communication,” the dude says, standing there calmly with his hands clasped in front of him. “I concluded that a human form would make you most comfortable and as American English is your most commonly used language --”

“You’re the fucking _console_?” Michael’s gaze flicks to the tech in question, sitting across the room on the second work table. “So you _have_ been trying to talk to me.”

“Yes,” the dude, the _console_ , answers. “I was incapable of altering my method of communication until told to. You are clearly unfamiliar with my operations though, so I may have taken some initiative based on your words.”

Michael’s brow furrows in concern. “Are you -- alive?”

“I am an artificial intelligence,” the console replies. “I am capable of independent thought and action but I am programmed to respond to the command of an Antarian genetic code.”

“Okay, stop. _Stop_.” Michael pleads, dropping his head into his hands. Okay, so he’s inadvertently caused the ship to make itself a hot-ass hologram. No big deal. This is going to make things easier. Right?

*

Max taps his fingers on his crossed arms. Isobel studies the hologram with interest.

“You asked him to do it and he just -- made himself a hologram?” she asks.

“Basically, yeah.”

“And this helps us… how?” Max asks.

Michael waves a hand in the hologram’s direction. “It can tell us anything we want to know!”

“Incorrect,” the console corrects him. “I possess only the information that I contained when I left the Antarian homeworld.”

“That’s already a thousand times more than we know now,” Michael says, and he can see Max wavering. He _knows_ that Max wants the information almost as much as he does, and this way, they don’t have to keep a homicidal maniac alive to get it.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to find out a few things from it - him,” Max concedes.

Isobel taps her chin thoughtfully. “Why did you make him look like this?”

“I didn’t make him look like anything,” Michael answers. “Ask it.”

Isobel raised an eyebrow at the console. “Why do you look like this?”

“This holographic representation was created to communicate with Michael Guerin,” the console answers. “I took the attributes that he finds most pleasing in a human form and combined them with a series of other randomized human traits that I accessed through your human interconnected network.”

Isobel bursts out laughing.

“What?” Max and Michael ask at the same time.

Isobel turns to them, gesturing to the hologram. “Who does this remind you of?”

They both frown.

Isobel rolls her eyes. “A little shorter, tortured eyes, sarcastic smile.” She taps her foot impatiently when neither of them have the answer. “Leans his weight to the left?”

“Oh, I see it.” Max nods. “Alex.”

Michael goes bright red. “What? No. He’s not -- that isn’t --” he makes a strangled noise as he realises that Isobel is right. “Oh my god. Alex can never see this.”

“I think he’d be flattered,” Max offers.

Isobel laughs so hard that she doubles over and has to grip onto the table for support. Michael wants to tell her off for it but he’s too busy trying to figure out how to hide this reality from Alex. And besides, it might be the lightest he’s seen her since they brought Max back and she’s started hanging out with what they affectionately refer to as Team Human.

His protests can wait a few more minutes.

*

Alex _does_ see it, because he’s brilliant and punctual and Michael had completely forgotten that he’d invited Alex to come and see his “progress with the alien tech” before Isobel had dropped the look-alike revelation on him.

“No, wait!” he says, when Alex starts climbing down the ladder. “It’s not ready yet!”

“Guerin, what are you talking about…” Alex mutters. When he reaches the bottom, Michael’s quickly standing in front of him, trying to block his view. Alex dodges his attempts and looks over his shoulder. His face falls immediately.

“Oh,” he says, in a flat tone. “You have company.”

“What?” Michael asks in alarm, then shakes his head vehemently. “No, Alex. Christ. It’s a hologram.”

Alex regards him warily. “A -- hologram?”

“Yeah.” Michael’s shoulders sag in defeat. “That’s what I wanted to show you. Come on, have a look.” He guides Alex over to the waiting console hologram, and waves his hands with mocking flourish. “Ta-da. The console made itself a hologram.”

The airman ( _retired_ airman, Michael corrects himself) stands and inspects the hologram. Michael holds his breath and tries to prepare for whatever conversation they’re going to have when Alex _realises_.

Alex turns to look at him, a smile on his face. “This is amazing, Guerin. He looks so real.”

Michael releases the breath he was holding. “It can hear you. And it talks back.”

That makes him raise his eyebrows and he quickly turns back to the console. “Really?”

“Indeed,” the console replies without blinking. “Captain Manes, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Alex startles. “It knows my name?”

Michael realises the question is directed at him, but before he can open his mouth to answer:

“Yes, Captain Manes. Michael has spoken of you often. As I am able to access your human interconnected network, I simply used the available parameters to acquire information on yourself.”

Alex makes a soft noise. “Often?”

Michael’s eyes go wide and he quickly busies himself with his work. “Often’s a relative term,” he says, but there’s no way it sounds convincing.

*

The more time that Alex spends talking to the console, the more annoying the console becomes to Michael. And Alex, sweet, wonderful Alex, insists on talking to the console like it’s a real human being. Case in point:

“Do you have a name?” Alex asks.

“When I was a full ship, I was called _The Nakada_.”

Alex’s mouth twists in a way that means he’s thinking. “Do you _want_ a name?”

The console blinks at him, like it’s surprised. Michael’s not sure it _can_ be surprised.

“As I am no longer a fully functioning ship, it would be logical to differentiate between my previous and current states,” is what it says. “What will you call me?”

“ _You_ should pick a name,” Alex insists, because of course he does.

The console considers this. “My Captain’s name was Vaada.”

Alex nods. “Vaada. I like it.”

The console’s face lights up at the words; a bright smile that Alex mirrors. “Then it will be my new name.”

“Did you hear that, Guerin?” Alex calls over to him, like Michael hasn’t been listening in on the entire conversation. “He has a name now. You can stop calling him --”

“I heard it,” Michael grumbles. “It’s a _ship_ , Alex. It’s not even a ship anymore! It’s just the console. You don’t have to treat it like a person.”

“You said it was AI,” Alex retorts, sounding frustrated. "How do you know your people weren't capable of giving him feelings?"

Michael opens his mouth to tell Alex exactly why, then closes it when he realises he doesn't actually have an answer. Alex grins at him like he knows he's won and the sight of him, happy and triumphant in Michael's bunker, renders Michael quite unable to argue any further.

*

He tries being nicer to the console. To _Vaada_. It probably shouldn't surprise him that Vaada becomes considerably more helpful in return. Suddenly, his systems are less cryptic. The information that Michael’s wants practically floats to the surface and Vaada himself seems to answer questions with more clarity than before. He’s able to procure the _Nakada’s_ passenger list and even goes so far as to talk through it with Michael, describing various passengers and crew members of the ship. Michael tries not to flinch when Vaada reads out his mother’s name. He pauses, looking across the work space.

“I am sensing some discomfort,” he says, the bastard.

“Yeah, I bet,” Michael says in response, because it seems stupid to lie to a spaceship. “She was -- Mara was my mother.”

“Of course.” Vaada nods his head, as if the information is simply a puzzle piece that fits perfectly into place. “You share similar physical characteristics with her, though I believe the genotype for your hair and eyes come from your father.”

“Fa-ther?” Michael chokes on the word. He’s assumed the existence of a father, but the reality had never really cemented itself in his mind.

“Mm. Rath the Fourth,” Vaada replies, eyes flickering from side to side in the way they do when he’s looking through information that Michael can’t see. “Which would make you… Rath the Fifth.”

“That’s a stupid fucking name,” Michael says, even though he’s pretty sure he’s crying. “Who names their kid _Rath_?”

“At least five generations of your family,” is Vaada’s answer.

Michael blinks at him through the tears and then lets out a surprised bark of laughter.

Vaada watches him with a calm expression but Michael’s pretty sure he can see the beginnings of a smile.

*

They get along better after that. Michael forgets why he was apprehensive to treat Vaada as anything other than an autonomous, programmed personality. He even finds himself _enjoying_ the AI’s company, especially once he teaches Vaada how to make a joke. They’re still pretty base level but there’s always room for improvement.

Alex spends a lot of time in the bunker. He and Vaada are decoding the hidden and damaged information that isn’t readily accessible on the console. Alex is also adding vocal components to the Antarian language program he created which, if Michael wasn’t already pathetically in love with him, would most likely be sealing the deal.

He tries not to be jealous as he watches the two of them work together but he’s only -- well, he’s doing his damn best and it’s _weird_. The two of them look so alike, he’s amazed it took Isobel’s nudging for him to realise. He’s amazed _Alex_ hasn’t realised. But really, it’s like watching Alex talked and smile and flirt with an Antarian version of himself. It’s doing Michael’s head in.

Which is why, on an otherwise uneventful Tuesday afternoon, he finally loses it.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Michael snaps. He drops his tools onto the table and reaches up to run a hand through his curls, only serving to mess them up further. “Seriously, I can’t take it.”

Alex turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

Michael gestures to the two of them huddled together as close as they can be, given that one of them is a hologram. “This. The flirting.”

“Guerin,” Alex says patiently. “Vaada is a hologram.”

“I can make him a body!” Michael blurts out, then grips his hair tighter.

Alex’s eyes go wide as saucers. “What?”

“They had a way to make bodies for the ship’s AI,” Michael starts to explain. “My people. They could download part of the AI into an avatar so that it could like, interact with the crew and shit.”

“It would allow the crew to relate to me on a more human level,” Vaada explains from behind them. “Antarians are often more comfortable interacting with a familiar-looking humanoid. That is the reason I generated this appearance, a set of attributes which appeal to Michael Guerin and--”

“Shut up, Vaada,” Michael snaps.

Alex turns from looking at Vaada in confusion back to Michael. “So he’d be -- a robot?”

Michael shakes his head miserably. “If I can get all the parts I need, he’d be an avatar. Like, with skin. But mechanical on the inside.”

He doesn’t think that Alex’s eyes can get any wider, but they’re certainly making a go of it.

“That’s amazing,” he breathes, then his brow furrows. “And dangerous. What would he do? Where would he go? He couldn’t just live down here forever.”

“I hadn’t really got that far,” Michael admits. “We just figured out we could do it and I though…” he shrugs helplessly and gestures towards Alex and Vaada. “I thought you’d want to know.”

“Michael,” Alex says his name again, infinitely patient. “I don’t want to date your console.”

“He’d look exactly like the hologram,” Michael barrels on. “So he’d be, y’know, _hot_ and--”

"The ethical implications alone are-" Alex starts to say, just as Michael’s brain catches up and he interrupts:

"Wait, you don't want to date him?"

Alex shakes his head fondly, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. "No, Michael."

Michael looks from him to Vaada, who has blinked further back into the bunker and is humming, making a show of being engrossed in some calculations. "But you're here hanging out with him all the time."

Alex rolls his eyes. "I'm here all the time hanging out with _you_."

"Oh."

Michael’s confusion slowly morphs into a smile. Then Alex looks at the ground and asks:

“Um. Are you sure that _you_ don’t want to date your console?”

Michael blinks at him in response. “Um. What?”

Alex tilts his head from side to side. “Well, he did say that he’s made up of all the features _you_ find attractive,” he reasons. “And you flirt with him sometimes. And you just said you could make him a body.”

Admittedly, there is a lot to unpack there. Least of all that if Alex thinks he’s been flirting with Vaada, he isn’t doing a good enough job of flirting with _Alex_. The other stuff is… accurate, if a little beside the point.

“I don’t flirt with him,” is all that comes out of Michael’s mouth.

Alex smiles at him. “You do. Yesterday, you did that thing where you touch your tongue to your teeth and grin.”

He _wants_ to tease Alex for how specific the detail is, ask him if he’s been watching that closely, but instead he runs a hand down his face.

“It’s because he looks like you.”

Alex freezes, like a deer in headlights. “What? No he doesn’t. That’s -- why would you even --”

“ _Alex_.” Michael adopts a no-nonsense tone and gestures to Vaada. “Vaada, just tell him.”

“Tell me _what_ \--”

Vaada blinks into existence beside them. “As my primary function was to communicate with Michael, my appearance was generated from the attributes that he finds most pleasing in human form, which were then combined with a series of other randomized human traits that I accessed through --”

“Vaada,” Michael interrupts him. “How similar do you look to Alex?”

“Similar? That is difficult to quantify. I require a more specific --”

Michael rolls his eyes. “To what degree does your appearance match Alex’s?”

“I would estimate seventy-five percent. Though I do protest the --”

“Yes, um. Thank you, Vaada,” Alex says. He’s blushing, high on his cheeks, which is new and delightful, and he’s looking right at Michael. Not new, but definitely just as delightful.

Michael distantly registers Vaada blinking out of existence again, but he really can’t bring himself to focus on that when Alex is stepping closer, leaning on his cane and tilting his head in a way that is so sexy, Michael completely forgets why he’s not supposed to cup Alex’s face gently in his hands and draw their mouths together.

At least, until Alex makes a noise into his mouth, the kiss already turned deep and wet. Michael breaks it with a gasp, staring at Alex’s slack expression and heavy-lidded eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t --” he starts to stammer, which is so far from smooth he could hit himself. “I know we don’t, uh, do that anymore, I just --”

He’s saved from embarrassing himself further when Alex surges forward to shut him up. His cane smacks to the floor when he reaches up to thread his fingers through Michael’s curls and presses him back against the work desk.

Michael loses time to the kissing. It’s almost unbelievable that they can just take the time to enjoy the feeling of their slick mouths moving against one another, the touch of Alex’s tongue to him. There’s always been an underlying desperation when they’ve come together, heightened by the feeling that it might be the only, the last time. The intensity is still there but Michael knows it’s only because he wants Alex so damn bad. He always wants him. It doesn’t feel like he’s going anywhere this time though, so they can take their time.

They do have to breathe eventually, so Michael breaks their lips apart with a pop.

“A-Alex,” he pants, pressing his forehead to Alex’s temple. “Fuck.”

He can feel the way Alex’s smile goes wicked. “Mm. Not in front of Vaada. But yes.”

Michael laughs and grips at his jacket with both hands. It turns into a moan when Alex’s lips attach to his jaw, dragging over the stubble there.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbles. “Up the ladder. Now.”

*

He doesn’t come back to the bunker for a few days, suddenly too preoccupied to do much else than spend the days at work and the nights at Alex’s cabin.

When he finally does back it back, he flips the chandelier lights on and Vaada’s flickers to life with them. He looks Michael up and down with what Michael’s assuming is an assessing scan.

“You have been absent for many days,” he what he says.

“Uh, yeah,” Michael replies, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. He refuses to feel embarrassed in front of a hologram. “I’ve been busy. At Alex’s.”

Vaada processes this information and nods sagely. “Ah, I see that my calculations were correct.”

Michael narrows his eyes. “What calculations?”

“The romantic relationship between yourself and Captain Manes,” Vaada supplies helpfully. “Or lack thereof. It was clear that there was a sexual attraction present between you. In all the interactions I witnessed, neither yourself nor the Captain indicated a present partner or partners. My analysis of your interactions indicated that while the attraction was present, neither address or remedy it.”

“So you figured out Alex and I wanna bang,” Michael scoffs. “Doesn’t take a genius, or super computer console, to figure that out.”

“You are correct,” Vaada agrees. “I therefore introduced behaviour that would require either party to address the situation.”

Michael hesitates. “I don’t know if I want to hear what that means.”

“By engaging both you and the Captain in flirtatious banter,” Vaada continues mercilessly, ignoring Michael’s hesitancy. “A level of jealousy was created that prompted you to solve the situation. You have clearly done so, as I believe your comment regarding the Captain and being _busy_ referred to the resolution of your sexual tension.”

It’s a lot to process. Michael’s not really sure how to start addressing any of it. “I didn’t tell you to do any of this.”

“No. I am capable of taking initiative.”

Michael splutters in indignation. “Were you this nosy when you were a goddamn spaceship?”

“Of course.” Vaada blinks in confusion. “I often assisted my crew in matters of the heart. Statistically speaking, a happier crew served to create an environment in which _the Nakada_ ran at far more efficient capacity.”

“I’ll give you efficient capacity,” Michael grumbles underneath his breath.

“Yes, that would be ideal.”

Michael ignores him and starts sorting the papers on the desk, grumbling to himself while he does so. Only, he can’t honestly work up the kind of anger he thinks he should feel about the whole thing.

So what if Vaada flirted with the both of them to elicit some kind of reaction? Everytime he tries to be mad about it, Michael thinks about Alex’s face in the morning light, the way they’d kissed at the door before Michael drove back to town.

Maybe this is the new normal. Maybe he's okay with that. Maybe Alex will laugh later tonight when Michael tells him the story, his fingers running through Michael’s curls with Michael’s head in his lap.

Yeah, Michael really can’t be that mad about it.

Okay, so. He has a console that talks. And interferes in his personal life.

Bring it on.


End file.
